


What is it about tenderness

by alunsina



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Bartenders, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-23 21:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15615339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alunsina/pseuds/alunsina
Summary: Cha Hakyeon walks into a bar. Han Sanghyuk regards this as a bad move.





	What is it about tenderness

 

 

It wasn’t probably ominous, but by the time Sanghyuk met Cha Hakyeon again, it culminated in Hakyeon throwing up on Sanghyuk’s shoes and half of Ravi’s fans storming the bar’s makeshift stage due to accidental ab exposure--so clearly that was a wash. The next one after that had Hakyeon curling under the counter as Sanghyuk poured row after row of rainbow shots for some Pride March afterparty. When the revelry ended Hakyeon had achieved full horizontal on the bar floor, and on boss’ orders, Sanghyuk had to piggyback him to the cab, all while getting drooled on and getting his best shirt ruined.

The next next _next_ time, it’s in an engagement party. Sanghyuk hands him a glass of tepid water.

“Excuse me,” Hakyeon starts, unfailingly polite even in the face of blatantly bad service. “But I ordered a couple of mojitos?” He’s wearing a tailored coat in cool slate grey, cashmere black turtleneck sweater looking so soft you’d almost want to reach out and touch. You’d think someone with money for good clothes could buy an ounce of common sense. Alas.

“We ran out of fresh mint,” Sanghyuk says as he hands off a tray of G&Ts to Hongbin, who raises an eyebrow at the whole exchange, but thankfully moves on to serve the drinks to guests.

“How about a, a gin and tonic then? Or what would you recommend?” Hakyeon leans over the counter, smile as open and bright and guileless as the cool clear blue sky overhead. Like he wouldn’t be seen puking his guts out on the sidewalk after a couple of beers, while some hapless bartender made sure that the lovely slate grey coat didn’t get caught in the awful backsplash.

Sanghyuk takes a pointed sip from his own glass, which may or may not be a G&T.

“Sorry, just ran out of that too. I hear water is good for hangovers. Very hydrating.” And because it’s only half an hour into the party’s cocktail rush, he turns back to his long list of drink orders, and tries to sublimate the sudden tension running across his shoulders into shaking cocktails really, really hard.

“It’s weird seeing you be so outright rude. You’re usually the polite and accommodating one,” Hongbin comments later, bringing back a round of empty glasses. There’s a reprimand there in his tone but Sanghyuk shrugs it off.

“It’ll save us from trouble later.”

 

 

***

 

 

It doesn’t save Sanghyuk from trouble, merely delays it for a couple of hours. At the end of said engagement party, Sanghyuk has to pry Hakyeon off from cuddling a chair. It's a wonder how Hakyeon hasn't lost any business yet from being a lightweight.  
  
"I'm very good at my job! I plan excellent parties!" is Hakyeon's unsober argument. He seems to be under the impression that saying things louder would make his reasoning bulletproof. "And drinking is great! Drinking with other people, I mean. It does wonders for networking."  
  
He lists his entire weight against Sanghyuk’s shoulders, one arm around Sanghyuk's neck as they make their slow progress across the empty parking lot and towards the nearest streetcorner where they can hail a cab. The evening has gone muggy and oppressive, the sky too dark. The air smells like it might rain.  
  
Hakyeon gestures at some indeterminate point in the darkness because he has a deathwish. "There's no need for you to go through all this, this stuff.” He flaps his right hand in emphasis. “Just leave me there and I'll be fine."  
  
Sanghyuk ignores this. He tries to quicken his pace instead and Hakyeon lets out a soft whimper of complaint. "Ahjusshi, you know, it will be less trouble for everyone if you stopped getting wasted after two--"  
  
"--two _very tall_ glasses," says Hakyeon.  
  
"--two glasses of watered down Long Islands."  
  
"I thought they were iced tea." Hakyeon makes the special effort to look betrayed by this. "Why call them Long Island iced tea when they're not iced tea?"

“Why drink whatever’s been handed to you? Are you a child?” Sanghyuk shots back.

There’s a bench conveniently situated right at the streetcorner where one may perhaps dump their stupid drunk companion and call it a night. But when Sanghyuk bends down just enough so Hakyeon may reach out and steady himself before settling onto the seat, he slides across the other end of the bench and stays. He stays, tells himself he’s just trying to catch his breath even when he isn’t winded at all, watches the familiar profile of Hakyeon look up at the starless sky and laugh self-deprecatingly at having to be told off like a kid by a kid; and finally, finally, that tight ball of anger Sanghyuk hadn’t known residing at the center of his chest, unfurling.

“What a mess I turned out to be. Thanks for your help in bringing me here. Though I seem to be at a disadvantage.” Hakyeon’s cheeks are pleasantly flushed from both alcohol and physical exertion. Sanghyuk has to look away for a moment and examine the empty street. “I have a feeling we’ve met before and I don’t know your name.”

How many times has it been?

Hakyeon can’t have intended it but Sanghyuk thinks of the rain during their first meeting anyway, that night with the same starless sky. How the cold water snaked under his thin work overalls and filled him with the despair of utter aimlessness, sand and grit in his freezing hands but no sign of dry land, the phantom pain in his belly as he toiled under that torrential rain to complete some roadside construction work with an urgent deadline--when a man is drowning, he’ll grasp at anything--and the melody of Hakyeon’s voice, _but aren’t you cold_.

“Han Sanghyuk,” he says and gets a long searching stare. No flicker of recognition at all. It’s just as well.

Hakyeon hands him his business card. “Call me hyung and I’d give you a bigger tip next time,” he says, smiling up at him.

Sanghyuk snorts. “What are you saying. You don’t tip at all, hyungnim.”

When Hakyeon finally gets himself on a cab, Sanghyuk doesn’t quite leave the bench. He stretches, holds up the business card, the moonlight haloing it in between his hands.

What am I doing? Sanghyuk wonders at himself with the first drops of rain.

 

 

***

 

 

“Hyuk-ah, when I said I’d be giving you a bigger tip for next time, I didn’t think you’d be following me into every event so soon.” Hakyeon slides onto the barstool with a smoothness that can only be described as liquid. “I guess I’d better cough up the money.”

He pushes two 1,000 won bills across the polished counter, and he must’ve seen the emotion flit across Sanghyuk’s face because he’s amending it with, “Yes, keep the change. I know it’s a lot but please stop looking like I just gave you a million won. The other bartenders might start asking for the same.”

It’s not about the money. Sanghyuk has been pulling much, much more than that in tips per hour. “I’ll put it in our tip jar.”

It’s definitely strange to be the one being watched instead of the other way around. Hakyeon stays mostly at the bar counter, casting brief looks toward the small stage and listening to Ravi’s bass-thumping set from the sidelines (“We’re keeping him very, very covered this time. No surprise abs! Though I admit that it’s sexy.”).

“Hyuk-ah, I don’t suppose you’ll serve me drinks other than water,” Hakyeon says when he finishes his plate of peanuts. “On second thought, you look even younger than I remembered from last time. Are you actually old enough to serve anyone alcohol? Is this an illegal operation after all? Do I need to check your ID?”

Hakyeon calling him by name. Hakyeon not having alcohol-induced memory loss.

“We have juices and soda, hyung. It’s not all liquor here.” And because he can, he grabs a highball glass, syrup, lime juice, ice cubes, and makes him a Virgin Cuba Libre complete with a fancy lime wedge.

“Be level with me: this is just overpriced cola, isn’t it?” Hakyeon takes a cautious sip from the glass. Sanghyuk takes vindictive pleasure at seeing Hakyeon’s surprise and his total failure at trying to hide it.

He leans in close and whispers low a big trade secret: “If you present your ID, you know, we give huge discounts to senior citizens, hyung.” Sees the tips of Hakyeon’s ear go bright red, even if he’d taken great care to use rum-flavoured syrup instead of the real deal.

“Please return my 2,000 won,” Hakyeon tells him. “And may I speak with your manager? The service is terrible.”

 

 

***

 

 

His boss, the bar manager, tries to speak to Sanghyuk about it:

“Hakyeonnie is an old friend and can be a bit stubborn,” Taekwoon pipes up while Sanghyuk is polishing wine glasses, so sudden he almost drops them. “I’m glad he listens to you though. That someone is looking out for him during these parties.”

He’s somehow feeling caught out, unsure of why he feels caught out, rubbing the same spot on the glass like he might polish it to diamond-shine or maybe do something worse, make hairline cracks web endlessly onto the glass surface, but the look Taekwoon hyung is giving him is placid, open, and grateful.

At the bottom of Sanghyuk's bedside cabinet there’s a thick black rain jacket, dry-cleaned. The carton sleeve of a coffee cup almost a year old now. Both sitting untouched for months. As if trying to preserve whatever spell they hold over him.

“I’m just returning a favor,” Sanghyuk says.

 

 

***

 

 

Two months since that time he's dragged Hakyeon across that empty parking lot, and of course Hakyeon still slips up occasionally, as with the tendency of old enduring habits.

“In my defense I was hungry, you weren’t on shift yet, and tomato juice sounded like a good idea,” Hakyeon argues with the back of Sanghyuk’s neck. He sounds apologetic, almost sober, if you manage to forget how immediate Hakyeon’s legs have turned to jelly and Sanghyuk, yet again, carrying him out of the bar piggyback style. Hongbin had been laughing at them, stepping out of their way with a little flourish as if Sanghyuk is a carriage for royalty. Sanghyuk doesn’t mind.

“It wasn’t all tomato juice.”

Hakyeon buries his face at the collar of Sanghyuk’s shirt, possibly trying to ride out his hangover already. “I knoooooow.”

They’re slowly negotiating the long stretch of wet pavement outside the bar--there’d been a light rain shower earlier--and though a small part of Sanghyuk wants to shake and jump about and inflict a world of pain to irresponsible Bloody Mary drinkers (i.e., Hakyeon), he takes pity on Hakyeon’s low-grade whining, makes his steps small and careful enough to not jostle the warm weight on his back.

(And how curious it is that he’s not reacting to it in anger or resignation, finds this burden familiar and comforting, the sharp brightness in his chest when Hakyeon turns and knows to expect him, _Hyukkie, I can’t feel my legs anymore and I need to give a speech, oh my god, can you pretend to be a very pretty wall I can lean against?_ )  

The arms around his neck tense for a second. “Hyukkie-”

“Sanghyuk,” he corrects halfheartedly.

“Why are you so, so good to hyung, huh? What good deeds did I manage to accumulate in my past life to deserve you?”

Not in the past life. Sanghyuk can’t help but smile ruefully and think of: the black rain jacket, coffee cup sleeve, the clear voice under the heavy rain. “If you want to thank me, don’t pay me back in 100 won coins. Maybe don’t accept weird drinks from strangers too. Eat your meals more regularly.”

Hakyeon harrumphs. “If you want to know if I eat my meals on time, maybe you should just come and marry me.”

The sidewalk is slippery, Sanghyuk tells himself when he trips. “I’m going to drop you into a large puddle if you don’t stop.”

“I thought so,” Hakyeon sniffs.

“You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough to dull the pain of my Hyukkie rejecting my marriage proposal,” Hakyeon replies, volume intensifying, “How can I ever hope to recover?”

If Sanghyuk feels like his entire face is in flames right now, it’s only because he’s embarrassed about the attention they’re getting, and not from any other sordid reason.

 

 

***

 

 

It’s a bad shift right from the start.

Sanghyuk knows right away when he wakes up half an hour late for the wedding’s call time, still feeling like a dried out husk version of himself, something gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He just grabs his good clothes and bolts out without having eaten any breakfast or lunch, catches up with Hongbin who’s already at the venue and has set up the bar.

“You’re late.” Hongbin tosses him a black apron, then after giving Sanghyuk a second look over, adds, “You sure you’re up for the whole night? We can call someone to take over for you.”

It’s the wedding Hakyeon has been stressing over for months, where at one point he’d shown him, in bullet points and several powerpoint slides, the mechanism in which they’ll release the small fleet of butterflies overhead the bride and the groom as they kiss. Sanghyuk wants to be there to see it. He promised.

“I’ll hold out,” he says, hiding his wince as he ties the apron around his waist, praying to whatever deity that the gnawing feeling would go away. He has suffered worse pulling double shifts in construction work when he was new to the city. Surely, it’s not that bad.

The wedding--Sanghyuk doesn’t have much words about it, other than the release of the butterflies going well, the rest of it drowned by the haze of nausea and the burning pain in his stomach. Most of his concentration is taken up by staying upright and mixing the odd drink or two, alcohol-less concoctions he can then send out to Hakyeon, whose various acquaintances seem to tempt him if he had no drink in his hand.

For most of the program, Sanghyuk feels Hakyeon’s worried gaze on him from across the wide wedding hall like a brand.

 

 

***

 

 

“You look worse than death,” Hakyeon says when he goes up to the bar during the wedding reception. Sanghyuk puts down the bottle of angostura bitters and waits for the zombie punchline.

When he looks up, Hakyeon isn’t laughing.

“I already asked Hongbin to call for backup. I’ll take you home.”

Sanghyuk grips the edge of the counter. “The wedding isn’t finished--”

“It’s done,” Hakyeon says with grave finality and there seem to be no use arguing back.

 

 

***

 

 

It’s the quietest walk they’ve had so far going out of an event, Sanghyuk leaning against Hakyeon this time, tension so immense it’s like an ocean between them.

“Are you angry?” Sanghyuk asks, distracted enough from his pain by the minute tic of muscle he sees in Hakyeon’s left cheek.

“It’s not nearly as funny when it’s reversed,” Hakyeon allows. “Though I understand now your old frustration with me and drinking.” He shakes his head. “What I find hard to understand is--you didn’t have to do it, today at the wedding.”

“Maybe I still don’t trust hyung with alcohol and not ruin the event he worked so hard on,” Sanghyuk says, trying for lighthearted.

Hakyeon’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “You didn’t have to, not at the wedding, not at all the previous parties. You didn’t have to take care of me.”

_Why are you so, so good to hyung?_

It was a way to give back. To repay his kindness a year ago. Sanghyuk can lay it all out, the details of it, how that one gesture had kept him from being lost at sea. And yet something else comes out of him, without permission, unbidden:

“I wanted to see you.”

And with that singular reason, somehow, it’s easier for Sanghyuk to cross the distance between them, the ocean keeping them apart: one hand settling at the sweaty back of Hakyeon’s neck as his eyes go wide, the other cradling Hakyeon’s jaw, smooth and natural like Sanghyuk had practiced this countless of times, and maybe he did, in between watching Hakyeon and looking out for him; he tilts up Hakyeon’s chin and presses his mouth against his, from drowning to finding air at long last, Hakyeon opening up beneath him, his hot hand skimming Sanghyuk’s back; and just like that, from spending months being adrift in the cold waters, finally reaching the safe, warm shore.

 

 

***

 

 

Sanghyuk figured that Hakyeon knowing where you live is like half a nightmare. But the current hellscape of coming back from your kitchen with two piping hot mugs of coffee, and finding out that Cha Fucking Hakyeon in your bed has discovered the bottom drawer on your bedside cabinet?

“I understand why you would want to hold onto my rain jacket. It still looks very fashionable,” Hakyeon says, contemplating the folded and shrink-wrapped piece of garment in his hands. Sanghyuk wants to know who he has to kill for this. Was it Hongbin? Taekwoon hyung? Maybe his older sister has come to fuck with him even if she’s staying as far away as Daegu.

“Can you at least put a shirt-- _anything_ \--on first?” Sanghyuk says, trying to distract him.

“But you kept the coffee cup sleeve. From a year ago,” Hakyeon continues, something like stunned fascination on his face, and Sanghyuk just wants to _die_.

“It was in your jacket pocket!”

“Did you keep it because the barista wrote my name on it?” Now Hakyeon looks positively radiant and is just outright fucking laughing at him. “You’ve got such a huge crush on me, oh my god.”

“Hakyeon, please, put something on, I’m begging you. And if you can, can you just leave me here to die.” If he douses himself with two mugfuls of coffee maybe he can melt away into nothing.

Hakyeon walks over to him and knowing both of Sanghyuk’s hands are occupied, leans in and brushes his lips infuriatingly tender across Sanghyuk's cheekbone, a light kiss. While still laughing. Asshole. “Don’t worry, I have a huge crush on you too.”

 

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Conchitina Cruz's poems. Super big thanks to the mods for setting up this fest and for their incredible patience, and also to the prompter for putting forth this idea into the world so I can now make Hakyeon and Sanghyuk kiss, etc. My gratitude to the following letters of the alphabet: I, T, and T-2 for the handholding.


End file.
